The 13 Christmases where Anna almost got herself killed
by fluffykitty12
Summary: A series showing how Anna almost got killed every Christmas of her life, with Sherlock there to watch, of course. PRE-QUEL TO THE OTHER HOLMES. Family friendly, R&R!
1. Suicidal Christmas Child

"How's the baby?" Sherlock asked, looking at his pregnant sister. She hardly looked five and a half months pregnant, and she smiled.

"Wonderful." she was still smiling. He noted she was still stanisng out in the freezing cold.

"Mary, are you sure you should be out here so long?" he asked. He hated to admit it, but he was paranoid for her. Her and the baby.

They always refused to find out the gender through ultrasound, and it was a mustery. He always tried to deduce, but he never could be sure. And if she miscarriged and he found out the gender of a dead baby would shake him more than anything.

Mary brushed a strand of chestnut hair from her face. "I'm fine, Sherlock. Do you have to worry so much?"

"Because George isn't here to." he said quietly.

Mary nodded slowly. "He'll be home tonight, you know." Sherlock nodded. "I know. And then he can take over worrying."

Mary nodded and they looked out at the darkening horizon. The fat snowflakes drifted between them, and suddenly Mary gasped.

"Mary? Mary, what is it?"

Mary clutched her stomach, eyes wide with fear. "My water broke."

Sherlock felt the thoughts rush through hs mind. She was five and a half months, this couldn't be happening, it was insane, the chances for survival were almost non-existent...

He hefted Mary into his arms, bridal style, and the next moment he settled her into the passenger seat of a car they kept for recreational driving and slid into the driver's seat.

"The A&E is half an hour away. We can make it."

Mary nodded, but she was trembling. "Twenty-two weeks. Sherlock, the survival statistics..."

"I know. But we're Holmes's, we're not ordinary." he assured her.

Mary nodded, but she still looked shaky. "Are you sure you can get us there, in the snow, I mean, it's getting worse..."

The roads were already terrible, even for a native to this place, it was a deadly drive. Be he shrugged. "It's not that bad." he lied. The last thing Mary needed was stress right now.

He turned up the heat as Mary placed a hand carefully on her stomach, neither daring to speak or breathe. Ten minutes later, Mary took in a sharp breath.

"What is it?" he asked, worried.

"Just contractions." Mary said as calmly as she could.

Sherlock nodded, knowing he should be even more concerned, now. "does it hurt?"

"Oh no, it tickles." she snapped. She sighed. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, it's just... What if he dies?" he saw the tears in her eyes and could think of only one thing to say.

"It's a she, Mary."

"How do you deduce that?"

"With Mark, a male, you had morning sickness, he was full term, you had swollen feet, cravings, and you were tired a lot. With this child you've had no morning sickness, hardly any cravings, no swollen feet or cramps, it's like the complete opposite of Mark. And wha's the opposite of a boy? A girl."

Mary nodded, taking in his reasoning. "Yes, but what if she..." she gasped and was cut short by another contraction.

She doubled over in pain, and Sherlock grabbed her hand as she grit her teeth.

"Stop it, would you?" he demanded.

Mary looked shocked. "I can't help it..." she whispered.

"Not you, the baby. Is she suicidal?"

Mary burst out laughing despite herself as they went down the rough road. It was going to take awhile to get off the hill, and there might be black ice on the roads... The snow hadn't stopped its incessant drifting. He could've just insured all of their deaths.

He took another breath as he made a turn and the car slid slightly.

Mary didn't notice, and he took another breath and kept his focus. He'd get them all through this.

It took another twenty agonizing minutes, and then Mary was struggling. "Sherlock, they're getting closer..." Mary muttered, meaning the contractions.

He nodded. "You're not int he transition stage yet, it isn't the pelvis. Just breathe for me." Mary squeezed his hand as he drove, and finally, after an eternity, they'd reached the A&E.

He saw Mary's eyelids were screwed shut with pain, she couldn't speak ow... He gathered her into his arms, staring at the blood and water on her pants... He ran into the A&E, finding it surprisingly empty.

"Help. She's in labor."

A nurse hurriedly led him t a room and yelled for a doctor, drawing a curtain and shooing him from the room. He was left standing, waiting, heart racing as he waited for news. He heard doctors speaking hurriedly, and then silence.

He looked up as a nurse entered. "You can come and see her, now." He nodded and hurriedly followed the nurse into the room. Mary looked exhausted and worried. "The baby, Sherlock, they took her. Go see her, please..." the pleading look on her face was enough, and he nodded and squeezed her hand before heading to the NICU.

He saw a nurse standing by to watch, saw a tiny red face sticking out from a pink blanket and pink cap.

Holmes was clearly written on her wristband, and she blinked at him with green eyes... Her mother's eyes. She had hair, she looked as though she'd been scrubbed down, and the chestnut color showed through. She was still looking around, even though she had breathing tubes and what looked like an IV for an infant on her...

He was so enchanted for a moment her forgot Mary. He pulled out his mobile and snapped a picture. She seemed to look at him, trying to figure out who he was... Her eyelids fluttered and she wriggled beneath the blankets, bringing her thumb to her mouth and starting to suck on it... She was so tiny she didn't have fingernails.

The nurse smiled slightly and approached him. "Is she yours?" she asked quietly,with a distinct Scottish brogue.

He nodded. "Yes, she is. I mean, she's my niece, I'm not her father..." he glanced at her again. Her eyes were closed, and she was sleeping now.

"Is she alright?"

The nurse nodded. "For now, yes. Her lungs are under-developed, she's incredibly small, but if she makes it through the night it's a good sign. We'll be bringing her through to her mum if she does. Her chances aren't good though, I should inform you. At twenty two weeks, hardly any survive." She couldn't keep the worry from her eyes, and he swallowed and nodded.

"Thank you for informing me." he found a chair and sat down, carefully placing his fingers on the wall of the incubator that separated them. He read her hospital band.

**Holmes, ba 22 wks, lung udv., 2lbs, 6ozs, 10ins. Long. 6:51pm, 12/24/99**

He texted the pictures to Mary. Her mobile was in her coat pocket, he knew, and he didn't want to leave her if she could be gone at any moment.

She slept quietly on, not fussing or making a sound, which terrified him more than anything. "Please don't die." he whispered. He let his hand fall from the incubator wall and texted George. He was coming home on leave from military base, he'd be anxious as well...

A nameless child slept before his eyes, and he found himself staring, willing every breath not to be her last, every moment to be one of contentment... Holmes. She had the last name Holmes.

She was, shockingly, the only patient in the ward. All the other children had probably been transferred to better-equipped hospitals.

Mycroft texted repeatedly, but he didn't answer. He'd done his duty, texted Mary and George, pried his attention away from her for the necessary amount of time, and he wasn't going to sacrifice anymore when the lit behind those green eyes could be snuffed out at any moment.

Cry... Cry... Why wouldn't she cry? He stared her down as she slept, memorized every fiber of the pink blanket. And for a moment he looked away... He'd known babies started to cry in rhythm with their language within the first day.

"Why won't you cry?" he whispered.

She opened her eyes and started to scream, and he grinned as the nurse rushed to calm her.

"You want to try?" the nurse asked.

He took the baby from her carefully, feeling how small she actually was as she cried...

"Ita non estis perniciosasque Natalis puella." he said quietly. _So you aren't suicidal, Christmas child._

She stopped crying for a moment to stare at him, intrigued. In the silence she kept crying.

"Вас интересуют иностранные языки?" he asked. _Are you interested in foreign languages?_

It seemed a stupid thing to ask a baby, but she stopped when she heard the Russian, staring at him, rapt with interest. He smiled. This was definitely a Holmes girl.

He spent the next five minutes speaking to her in foreign languages, before he had to put her back. The nameless Christmas Eve child, she was so like her mother. And she shared her father's fighting spirit.

But he could see something besides desire and curiosity lurking behind those green eyes, even now, as she slept on. He saw a Holmes.

* * *

**Hello 2 all my readers! I decided 2 write a pre-quel 2 the other Holmes, sort of throw in a bit of fluff and backstory. Anyways, please R&R and thanks for reading! Luv u all! :)**


	2. Splosion!

Sherlock looked over at the two children in the study with him. Mark, who was seven, was working with his chemistry set, while Anna, who was now one and talking, poured over the instructions, smiled at all the foreign languages they were in and tried to pronounce the words.

"Atomic weight not right." she said suddenly and clearly, pointing to Mark's chemicals. She reached a small hand across and arranged them properly before turning back to where she was reading Charlottes web.

She could speak in broken sentences, now. She was having an easy time learning other languages, though, and she could read. Impressive, for a one year old.

Mark was relatively undisturbed by this, while Sherlock watched her. Mary had written him that she could speak a few months ago, but it was still a sight to behold a one year old reading and speaking. Then again, she wasn't normal. He pondered this for another moment before turning back to the book on greek law he'd been reading- It was interesting, all the methods they had for killing people.

"Anna, don't touch that." Mark said, not looking up.

She stuck out her lower lip and set down the vial. "Colors." she muttered. Mark shook his head. "Not now. I'm busy."

Ten minutes later he heard a clang and a squeak of surprise. "Anna... Don't...move..." Mark was staring, face stark white, at his little sister. He'd knocked ver a jug of a chemical, and it'd spilled on Anna.

"Burns..." she whimpered, turning and looking at Sherlock desperately. "Help."

Sherlock stared, he was analyzing everything... He jumped to his feet, helping Anna down from her chair.

She'd learned how to shakily walk.

"Follow me." he led her into the bathroom, putting her hands under the water in the bath tub and dousing the no doubt acid covered skin with them and turning to Mark.

"That was sulfuric acid, wasn't it?"

Mark nodded sheepishly.

"You're lucky. You could've burned her even worse."

He was already looking at the raw, red skin that was showing on her arms now. She bit her lip, whimpering quietly.

"Hurts." she muttered again, tears rolling down her cheeks. She tried to turn away from him.

"It'll stop soon." he assured her. But he knew it was probably excruciating by now, she was probably trying not to scream...

"How concentrated was it?" he asked, trying to determine if it was stronger than normal.

Mark bit his lip. "As concentrated as I could make it."

He sighed. "Great. Get your mum. She'll want to see this." Mark nodded, running downstairs, eager to do something to help.

"Sherlock. What happened?" Mary was in the doorway a moment later.

"Mark managed to make some Sulfuric Acid." he said. He was dabbing at the raw skin now, trying his best to be gentle. He'd spilled sulfuric acid on himself when he was nineteen. He could still remember the gnawing, burning pain... "I need some tylenol, if you have it, and some antiseptic. "

Mary nodded, before disappearing down the hall and returning a moment later. She held out the cup of grape medicine, and Anna studied Sherlock questioningly.

"Take it. It'll help." She obeyed, looking appalled at the flavor and allowing him to bandage the burns.

"Still hurt?"

She shrugged. "Less. Mark! Make colors!"

Mark nodded, eager to try and make it up to her, running and grabbing him chemistry set, combining chemicals in the beaker and mixing them. Instantly, it turned sky blue. She giggled. "Green!" Mark nodded, forehead creasing as he chose another chemical and added a drop, turning it green.

"Yellow?" she asked, intrigued, waiting for him hopefully. Mark nodded, tearing open a packet of powder with his teeth and making it yellow.

" 'Splosion!" she said, clapping her hands and marching in place, eager now. "Not in here, you two!" Mary warned.

" 'Splosion outside!" Anna said, grabbing Mark by the hand and racing downstairs, She loved the watch it when he made explosions.

"I swear, I'm going to be gray by thirty five with these two around." Mary said.

He nodded. "They just might invent something great. If they don't accidentally kill each other first." he added, as a resounding explosion sounded from outside.


	3. Fuzzy

Sherlock watched his niece's eyes dance around the room as she looked about her. She looked as though she was daydreaming calmly. Suddenly she turned to him, eyes wide with fear.

"I'm going to go fuzzy." she muttered. Before he could even ask what she meant by that, she collapsed onto the ground and started convulsing. He reacted, scooping up the small body ad holding her tightly against his chest as she flailed, keeping her from hurting herself while she seized.

"George!" he yelled for her father. Of course he knew she was epileptic, but he'd never witnessed her in a seizure before, and it was startling to see her so helpless. A moment later George rushed in and took her from his arms. The seizure lasted for about two minutes, and he set his daughter on the couch in the recovery position, looking at her unconscious form and rubbing her back slowly.

George gave him a wane smile. "The say she might grow out of the seizures." he said quietly.

He turned back to his daughter. "Can you hear me, Colt?" he murmured soothingly, affectionately using her nickname he'd come up with.

Her eyelids fluttered and she looked at him, clearly exhausted from the seizure. "Daddy? Did I go fuzzy?"

George smiled now, relieved. "Yeah, Colt, you went fuzzy."


End file.
